The Watcher
by midnight black light
Summary: I'm sinking. But that's the point I think. There's someone just outside my vision just waiting for me. It's dark, pulling at me, sucking me in. And I can't stop it. I'm powerless now.


The watcher

_I can't sleep now. No matter what I do sleep never comes. The problem isn't even Dexter, the Bay Harbour Butcher, my brother and the man I love. No that's not the problem while I'm disgusted to realise who he is and more disgusted that I can accept that. I can live with that, unlike Harry. _

_No the problem is the guy following me. The man that for weeks has been posting pictures of me though my own fucking letterbox. And it's getting worse. It started at one envelope of pictures a week and it didn't bother me. I can take care of myself and at the time the Dexter thing was new and fucked up. But now it's three, four envelopes a day. To make it creeper the fucker had started to write messages to me on the pictures. They were sick; I spend most of my time trying to forget. If that wasn't bad enough the guy broken into my house, he eaten in my kitchen and had slept in my bed. _

_So now I can't sleep. Which is making life fucking hard, I'm falling sleep at my desk, a lack of concentration and I can't eat. To make matters worse I can't tell anyone. The others are including the captain are investigating Dexter and when I produced the pictures to show Angel they were dismissed as an attempt on my part to take the heat of Dexter. LaGuerta had point blank told me that if I tried to stop them investigating Dexter again then I would be on my ass fired and alone. Which I had considered when it had started to get worse but Dexter is getting sloppy or LaGuerta is getting clever, I'd had to cover up for Dexter so many times now. I can't let him down now it would break too many hearts, including mine. _

_Dexter, he would have been my first port of call, once. Now he's not talking to me unless he has to. That's my fault, I struggled to accept him and when I was beginning to accept him I found out about Hannah. Hannah the murder who accepted him completely, Hannah the woman he, I was loathed to believe, loved. So much that he killed outside of the code. Okay I know that I reacted badly by admitting to love him. After that we drifted apart as I couldn't get over Hannah and that spelt the end of our relationship. So I can't even tell him. I'm alone. And I can't sleep. _

_I find myself getting obsessive over everything and anything. Making sure that there's no evidence of Dexter, every file that crosses my desk is double and triple checked. The pictures of me he sent, the plates he used and the sheets he slept on are all in plastic bags hidden in the back of my closet. My apartment is spotless. It's unnatural for me. I spend more time in the gym than ever and the bar as often as I can without attracting attention from my co-workers. I'm sinking. And maybe that's the point. _

Its sunrise and right on time the mailman delivers my post including a thick expensive envelope which I know will contain pictures of me. This guy has a routine and now I know it like it's my own. An envelope at sunrise delivered by the postman I've had for years, other envelopes will then appear throughout my house it varies depending on whether I'm home or not, as I tried to at first catch him out. But now I don't bother. Therefore three envelopes will arrive before I get home. The first envelope is always from the night before whether I when to the gym or the bar he always finds me. The second will have pictures form the morning before I go to work and third is of the first half of my working day. The last will be of the end of my working day. Always the same, the only way his pattern differs is the words he writes, of what he wants to do to me, of how much he hates me or loves me. There're never the same.

I won't get back to sleep now I know the first part of my gift is here, might as well face it. I slight out of bed and walk through the apartment till I reach the post. There it is, the pictures of me, I went to the gym last night trying to wear myself out to see if I could get any sleep and there I am in full colour print. Fuck it always gave me a shiver to know he was always there. But I breathe through it the fucker's just talk not man enough to do anything. Pain. I looked down something sliced through my hand. I drop the envelope a knife slid out across the floor. I slide down the nearest wall holding my hand to my chest my breath coming out in uneven pants as my vision blurs.

My head snaps up hitting sharply against the wall, I'm confused why am I on the floor? Then I remember the envelope and the knife. I look up its 7 o'clock shit I'm late I scramble up running round the apartment trying to get ready and look semi composed. I can't break. They're looking at Dexter more than ever any fault I make is as good as a fault by him.

An hour later I'm sitting at my desk my hand wrapped in bandage and stinging like a mother fucker. A murder is called in in a hotel room but I'm too fucked in the head to think clearly never mind see Dexter. I send Batista and Quinn to deal with the murder and I dig me way through piles of paper work. The looks of suspicion from the captain and LaGuerta makes me rethink not going but I'm not put together enough today. The knife had gotten to me. That was meant to hurt me; he's getting cocky now this could be dangerous.

Half a day later Batista and Quinn and the forensics are back I think little of it I'll check on then in a few hours when they've managed to get some work in and will be making progress. But before I can think on it any more Dexter walks in. Silence as we both say nothing just stare at each other. It's the first time I have seen him in days I don't see him on our days off any more. He looks good and it pains me to say it he looks happier than I can remember. But there's something in his eyes which worries me it's not his dark passenger but something else I don't remember seeing before. He seems to look over me looking for something. He won't find anything I made sure the dark lines under my eyes are covered and that I looked like my normal self. People noticing things would invite more scrutiny than Dex needs right now. He thankfully can't see my hand as it's under the desk. So after a minute or two the look in Dexter's eyes recedes and he turns and leaves when Batista calls for him.

I don't understand what was going on but right now I have better things to worry about right now than Dexter's frame of mind. It's not as though it's his I-have-to-go-and-kill-someone look. The knife does that mean he's going to kill me? Or was it just to scare me? That man can get into my house and he always knows where I am. Every minute of every day he knows where I am. I'm in trouble but I can't just not go home and stay in public places. I'm going to have to tell someone.

I stand up and walk over to LaGuerta sadly the others have gone out and if I don't get this out then I'm not going tell anyone, I'll lose my nerve. I ask her for a minute on my office and she comes not without complaint. "I'm in trouble" I can see her about to interrupt so I rush ahead "no real fucking trouble. I've been getting threatening fucking pictures with treats on. I didn't fucking think it was anything to worry about. But …." And she cuts me off before I can finish "Oh so we start looking in to your brother and suddenly you're in life threatening danger." LaGuerta snorts "of course it would." She's called away not before telling me that my careers over.

Fuck LaGuerta has enough control to make sure that no one will believe me and to end my career. I'm on my own. Fuck.


End file.
